Do you see the lights in the distance?
The fog erased outline of the station?
Are you comfortable with your name?
Late afternoon, a spit of sun, sand,
A triumph after the last bloodletting.
Where do we want to go from here?
The temple not destroyed, but desecrated,
Blood graffiti, carcasses of pig,
The ark wide open, spilled oil, broken lamps.
We will not wait until tomorrow to clean,
We are comfortable with who we are,
The mirage of light in the distant our legacy.
One days supply lasts eight days,
One prayer resonates in song and psalm,
One mount, one name, a household of praise.
| Copyright © 2022 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
This is horrible and wonderful at once. The evil and hatred, utterly undeserved, opposed and marginalized by faith and love for the community so attacked. (Hate the word "juxtaposed", pretentious and overused by critics, those vermin). Solid imagery and torrents of emotion; anger, sadness, elation at the rebirth of the temple through faith despite persecution. As always it is a pleasure.
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